Finding Her Way Home
by L. Reisert
Summary: A WIP about Christine finding her way back to Erik after nearly six months without him. Obviously EC. :)


**Finding Her Way Home  
May 10, 2005**

Disclaimer: This is my first piece of writing within the fandom. I adore _Phantom of the Opera_ but sadly, I do not own the rights to the characters, settings, and so on. The following particular storyline is mine, but everything else belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber, Charles Hart, Warner Bros. and so forth.

Author's Note: Please be gentle and forgive possible OOC-ness. I don't know where I am going with the story yet. It will end up Erik/Christine though. :) Enjoy!

**Chapter 1: The Dreadful Discovery**

"ANGEL! ANGEL! WHY?"

Not six months after that tragic night at the Paris Opera House, Christine Daaé, fiancé of the handsome Vicomte de Chagny, was heard screaming from miles around like some sort of madwoman. Moments after the screaming stopped, her husband-to-be burst into their bedroom and found her shaking uncontrollably on the floor. Beside her was that day's _Epoque_, spread open to page three. In large bold words, anarticle's headline read, **THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA POPULAIRE IS DEAD!**

_Almighty God, Raoul thought to himself after glancing at the headline and seeing how much it affected his wife. It's been six bloody months! What madness overcomes her over the death of that fiend when she should be rejoicing! We're finally free!_

"You just don't understand," came the quiet voice from the sobbing young woman now sitting up on the cold tile floor, face in her palms. "You do not understand."

Raoul started, now realizing he had spoken his last thought aloud. He inwardly cringed as he observed how much pain his wife was in emotionally and how much worse he had made the situation. "I…I'm.." He started to say and then trailed off. Strangely calm he looked toward Christine, stroking her back softly, "I want to understand. Please explain, my darling."

"Alright," She hesitated for a moment before snuggling up against her fiancé and explaining to him exactly what she thought she felt toward the one everyone called the "O.G."

After she had finished, Raoul thundered, "You mean to say, you still have feelings toward this monster - even after all he tried to do to you? To us? For God's sake, Christine, he tried to kill me!"

"I still care for him. A part of me does at least." Christine admitted, ducking her head and curling up in a fetal position. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for Raoul's response.

"I can't believe you, Christine." Raoul ran a hand through his sun-touched locks. He stood up quickly and kicked the wall, not caring about the pain. "MY WIFE-TO-BE IS IN LOVE WITH A DEAD INSANE MURDERER!" He shouted angrily.

"Raoul, would you see reason? Calm yourself," she pleaded gently, "the servants will hear! For years, I had naïvely thought that this man was sent to me by my father. He was my confidante and friend and until you became the new patron of the opera populaire, he was nothing else. He must have thought that he and I would have all the time in the world together and you show up to take me away. He felt threatened. Please Raoul, don't punish him. He's dead now, forgive him." Christine choked back a tear. _Oh father, I made the wrong decision, didn't I? Oh God! It's too late now. It's an eternity of this -_ she looked sharply at Raoul - _before my eyes…And where did Raoul get such a nasty temper?_

Raoul's eyes brimmed with tears that he wouldn't let Christine see. He picked up the rose-filled vase from Christine's vanity and threw it across the room. Then, he flew out of the room as quickly as he went in. "Clarence, have George bring the carriage around," he hissed at his manservant through clenched teeth.

"Raoul! Raoul!" Christine shouted back to him, disheveled and miserable. It was no use. Raoul was gone. _Would he be back?_

Rumors began to spread like wildfire, questioning the state of the former opera singer's mental health. Raoul's servants and neighbors had gossiped wildly wherever they could about the events that had taken place that night. The screams. The cries for an angel. The violent sobbing and finally the sound of glass crashing beyond the young couple's bedroom door that led to the Vicomte leaving his own house in a rage. These stories, some exaggerated, some truthful did not fall upon deaf ears. In fact, by the next evening, a lonely, broken man sitting in the darkness of his home had heard a great deal about the previous day's events at the Chagny manor.


End file.
